By the Gates of the Black God's Realms
by Garnet-Princess
Summary: Four years ago, the proud heart of Joren of Stone Mountain stopped beating.  But he has not died, and only one person can pull him out of his slumber.
1. Chapter 1

Using his forearms, Joren slowly pushed open the great double doors of the Chamber of the Ordeal. This was it – the final test. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in, footsteps echoing in the empty room around him. Suddenly, he felt a gush of cold wind that pinned him back against a wall and he felt the breath leek out of his lungs.

He was in a battle, swords flashed, metal clashed upon metal. At his side was a knight in full armour. With a feeling of dread, Joren reached out with a gauntleted hand and pulled of the knight's helm. Shoulder length hair braided in with a deadly looking spike, delicate features, and long lashes. "Keladry," Joren gasped, "Keladry of Mindelan." At his voice, she turned to face him... and the sword came down. Joren screamed as the blade cut through her neck and her head fell to the ground with a thud and bounced across the battlefield. He glanced wildly around for the weapon that had ended her life and found it clasped tightly in his own hands, the blade still slick with her blood. And he ran...

... into the page's wing in the palace. He was fourteen again, Zahir, Vincent, and Garvey at his side. A little second-year page stood before them. "You have no right to be here, slut!" he sneered before swinging a fist into her face. She dodged and through him over her shoulder and into a wall. It wasn't until the fight had ended before he noticed that Zahir was gone.

And then he was a seventeen. Kel, now newly-squired stood before him, sucking faces with Zahir. Joren yelped in rage, ran forward, and tore them apart. "Why did you do that?" she asked, Yamani-lump face on. He never gave her an answer, but clawed at her with a viciousness that not even he knew that he possessed. He did not know how long it went on, him screaming and attacking like a wild animal, Zahir trying to get him to stop, and Kel staring up at him with her stony expression. When he was done, her throat had been ripped out and he was kneeling by her side, crying.

And then he heard screams and he sprinted forward. A boy, Kel's brother Conal, was dangling something over the balcony of a tower. That something was five-year-old Keladry... and she was screaming... and Conal was laughing. He stood there and watched as the boy's fingers loosened and the little girl fell to the bone-crushing ground below. "Kel!" he yelled, "Kel!" and he jumped over the balcony...

... and back into the Chamber of the Ordeal. A short, plump man stood in front of him. "Joren of Stone Mountain, haven't you learned your lesson?" The man shook his head in disgust. "Well here goes..."

Just like that Joren was standing in an open meadow around him stood hundreds if not thousands of knights. As one, they raised the visor of their helms. Joren gasped. These were not men, but women. One of them stepped forward. She was around six foot one and had brown falling in loose waves behind her. "Hello Joren. I am Sabine of Macayhill."

Joren fell to one knee and bowed his head respectfully. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady," he said, jaw clenched so tightly that his muscles jumped. This was just wrong, he decided. Women were not meant to be fight.

Lady Sabine laughed. "It does not have to be a pleasure to meet me, but I thank you." Joren nodded abashed, he felt hot blood flood his cheeks. "Joren, women can be warriors," Sabine said, suddenly serious.

Joren stared up into her face, daring her to contradict him. "No, you cannot. You are weak and stupid," he said haughtily.

The lady laughed again, this time, it was bitter. "We stand before you now, all the lady knights of the past, and you kneel there like a lump and insult us! Joren, women can be warriors." And they were gone.

He found himself lying on his back on the hard tile floor of the Chamber. His palms were sweaty and he was bleeding from a cut from his cheekbone to his jaw. He shuddered. The same fat man stood over him. "You still haven't given in, have you, Joren?"

The scene changed. Joren raised his sword, just barely defecting a blow from a masked warrior. He surged forward, slashing wildly. He managed to slip past his opponents guard and knocked him to the ground. As the other man fell, his helmet fell off to reveal the sapphire gaze of Sergeant Dominant of Masbolle. Joren's blade descended. To his right, someone screamed his and Dom's names. Then Keladry of Mindelan flung herself on top of the sergeant. Joren had a split-second to turn his blow, but he didn't... and the tip of the blade found its resting place in Kel's heart... but it was Joren's heart that truly broke.

Joren found himself in a palace of mirrors, different images of himself on each one. His face, twisted with rage, glowing with arrogance, green with jealousy... Was he really such a bitter, obnoxious, and arrogant man? When Joren couldn't bear to look at himself anymore, he turned away...

... and cried out. Kel, face tear-streaken, hair dishevelled, knelt in front of him. "Joren, I know you hate me, but I need your help. It's Zahir, he's been kidnapped by Scanrans. Please Joren, will you help? He's your friend as well as mine."

He stared coldly down at her. However much he wanted to, his pride would not allow him to say yes. "Get away from me, slut," he said, turning his head away, unable to meet her pleading gaze. Then he kicked her. She gasped, clutching at her ribs. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she got to her feet and ran down the hall...

_Follow her..._ a voice whispered in his ear. He froze, recogonizing the voice of the man from the Chamber of the Ordeal. So this was yet another test. The memory of how his face had looked in the palace of mirrors flashed in his mind. And he obeyed the voice.

He caught up to her at the end of a flight of stairs. She lifted her head when she heard him coming. "What do you want, Stone Mountain?" she demanded, hand sliding to the sword on her hip. With a metallic hiss, the blade came free of its sheath. Automatically, Joren did the same. And then suddenly, they were fighting again, this time aiming for the kill. Kel was an excellent swordsman, but at the end, Joren could not be denied. With a flip of his wrist, he disarmed her, pinning her to the wall with the tip of his blade on her sword.

They stood there, gazes locked, and Joren's sword-arm began to shake. _Kiss her..._ the Chamber ordered. He took slow steadying breaths and leaned forward, sword still raised between them, but then as their lips were less than one inch apart, he noticed Vincent standing to one side jeering. No, he could not do this. With a cry he pressed hard against the hilt of his weapon, and it went in...

And Joren was back in on the cold floor of the Chamber of the Ordeal. The short man was sitting beside him, "Joren, I'm afraid that you have failed." Suddenly, he felt very tired. Maybe... maybe... he would... just go... to sleep... surely... he... would... wake... up... in... the... mor... ning...

Joren of Stone Mountain didn't wake that morning when the doors of the Chamber's doors opened. Not when his knight-master cried out in dismay at his crumpled figure on the ground. Not when Duke Baird had reached a hand over his chest to check for a heart-beat that was not there. Not when his father swore that the Chamber of the Ordeal had been enchanted by Keladry of Mindelan. Not even when his mother had cried.

But Joren was not dead. His heart had stopped beating, but deep deep inside his being, he still held a spark of life. He was trapped in an enchanted slumber that only forgiveness could break.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Joren, Kel, or Tortall ETC... blah blah blah**

**... And plz review  
**

_6 years ago:_

And there, in the midst of the boys was a little dark-haired girl with ridiculously long lashes. She had delicate features set in a face that a generous person could call heart-shaped. Joren gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He'd half expected to hate the girl on first sight, but somehow, a strange, unfamiliar, and even uncomfortable feeling stirred in his heart - pity. As the first official Lady Page, the other pages would surely look down upon her. She was staring at him now, taking in his perfect appearance. Joren knew that his father disapproved venomously of her, and Joren too for that matter - or thought he did until now.

The Lord of Stone Mountain was known for his intense disapproval of woman warriors... And for his elopement with the women who were not his wife. Thus, Joren had several illegitimate siblings, younger and older, male and female, all striving to be the heir and plotting to disinherit him. To his great dismay, his father to be favouring his half-brother Galen.

Galen was as dark as Joren was fair and just as striking, in a stronger and more masculine sort of way. Courteous, arrogant, and charming, Galen was Lord Buchard's idea of a perfect son. Of course, Joren did not lack any of those things himself, but his charm was more effective to the lady's of the court, not the lords. Galen was reason that Joren was here, their father had send his only legitimate son away in favour of the one he liked better.

Only half-listening, he observed the new pages were picked off one by one, until only the girl remained. "Your name and your fief?" their training master, Lord Wyldon, demanded.

"Keladry of Mindelan."

"Who will sponsor her?"

Joren has never wanted to be a sponsor. He thought of first year pages more as nuisances than as equals and found every opportunity to haze them. He was especially looking forward to ordering around that stuck up son of the Duke Baird, Nealan of Queenscove. Duke Baird was a fervent supporter of the Lady Knight Alanna and thus, Joren's father's rival. But face to face with Keladry of Mindelan now, he realized that for once, he must take on a first year page.

Raising a hand, he asked as politely as he could, "May I, my lord?"

The training master stared at him, as if trying to decide what his true intentions were. "You, Joren of Stone Mountain?"

He bowed. "I would be pleased to teach the girl all she needs to know of life in the pages' wing." He would also be pleased to teach her that girls belonged in the convent, and that girls aren't meant to be warriors, but of course, he didn't say that aloud.

The girl was staring at him now, suspiciously. He had no doubt that she suspected what he was trying to do. A few of the older pages giggled, and Joren silently willed them to shut up. True, Lord Wyldon was known to be extremely conservative, but he was also known for having a sense of honour as wide as a river. The training master frowned, "I had hoped for another sponsor. You should employ your spare hours in the improvement of your class work and your riding skills." Joren clenched his jaw, fighting for his irritation not to show. Those giggling pages would have him to answer to later.

"I believe I can perfect my studies and sponsor the girl," Joren said, glad that his voice was still calm. "And since I am the only volunteer –"

"I suppose I'm being rash and peculiar, again. But if it means helping my friend Joren improve his studies, well, I'll just have to sacrifice myself…" said Nealan of Queenscove. Joren wanted to rip out his throat.


End file.
